Tomorrow will be Kinder (I Promise)
by Summer Leigh Wind
Summary: Looking down on the child, England's confronted with a familiar strong jaw, messy red braid, and jade green eyes. Blinking, England whispers, "Scotland? Wilma?" The girl stills for a moment, glaring up with hard eyes. "Yeah, who're ya?" She demands. Coming down to his knees, England can't stop the horrified expression that comes to his feature. "Oh Wil, you don't know?" FemScotland
1. Chapter 1

_**Tomorrow will be Kinder (I promise)**_

* * *

England coughs as he peers through the haze of smoke that fills his basement, he hopes Scotland isn't dead down there; it would only mean more work for him (and as much as his siblings seem to think he enjoys the paperwork, England would really rather read Shakespeare or Dickens, even Rowling, by a fire with a cuppa in hand). Wafting away some of the smoke, England takes one creaky step down.

"Are you down here Scotland?" He calls, squinting. An object whistles through the air and if weren't for the reflex built from years of war; England knows it would squarely have hit him in the head. He hears it shatter behind him, twisting his head, he sees a broken bottle oozing some acidic concoction if the way his carpet sizzles is anything to go by. More than a little irritated, England shouts, "Oi! What was that for you wanker?"

A cut off scream comes from bellow followed by running feet and several more breakable items coming at him. Dodging nearly everyone, he's almost against one side of the stairwell when a small body attempts to brush past him. "Hey!" England cries snagging an arm.

"Lemme go!" The tiny creäture screams, lashing out with feet and teeth.

"Ah! Hey!" England yips shimmying around the fighting figure.

"I'll kill ya! I swear ta ya!" They-a girl-yells.

Looking down on the child, England's confronted with a familiar strong jaw, messy red braid, and jade green eyes. Blinking, England whispers, "Scotland? Wilma?"

The girl stills for a moment, glaring up with hard eyes. "Yeah, who're ya?" She demands.

Coming down to his knees, England can't stop the horrified expression that comes to his feature. "Oh Wil, you _don't _know?"

The girl scowls more and crosses her arms. "_Should _I?" She sneers.

Point at himself, the younger nation whispers, "I'm _England._"

The girl scoffs, "He's just a _runt_."

Sighing, England asks gently, "Do you know where you are?" A uncertain gleam comes to the child's eye, pressing on, England inquires, "Do you usually find yourself in people's basements? Does _anything _seem familiar?"

Scotland doesn't speak for a long while, her no more than ten-year old face searches his. Finally, her young hands reach out to his eyes; tracing them with a tenderness unusual to his sister. "I 'member those," she breathes, "I 'member that green."

England nods at this. "Okay, that's something." He remarks, "Do you trust me enough to believe me when I say you were much older before?" He inquires, Scotland's always been so doubtful of intentions and any good a person may perchance do (especially for her).

Her nose scrunches in a mixture of hesitation and irritation. "Duh, ya were barely waist-high last time I saw ya." She grumbles.

The blond chuckles. "I'm glad," he sighs, "Now, why don't you come with me and we'll talk a bit more in the kitchen over tea."

Scotland seems to consider this, soon, she nods her head and says, "Yeah, fer a bit."

* * *

Sipping her tea-which she really likes-Scotland swings her legs beneath the table and answers her younger-or is he older? brother's questions in shrugs and high and low hums. Sitting up a little straighter, Scotland asks her first question since they settled into the kitchen. "Where's Ireland an' Wales?"

Setting his mug down, England turns thoughtful; Scotland easily picks up that he's deciding what to tell her. "Well," he begins, "They have their own homes-you do to-but, you were over the other night on business and-oh, _Northern _Ireland _does _live here; you'll meet him later." He explains.

The girl toys with the information carefully, so her brothers and her don't live together anymore; but, that's not really a surprise, they're all _grown _after all. So, she decides to ask more about this new brother. "_Northern Ireland, _huh?" She implores.

England nods, "I'll find you a map later," he muses. He shakes himself of the distraction then and tells her, "You see, we were all one big nation called the United Kingdom, Ireland decided to separate a while back; however, a fraction of Ireland ended up staying with the UK so it took on its own personification," he smiles then, "North." Scotland considers him, he seems strangely fond of this younger nation; well, he looks at her in a similar way. Maybe he has a thing for young nations? Hunching back into her seat, she hopes the interest he has is innocent, not like-

"What do they all look like now?" She demands a bit too forcefully in an attempt to push away the stream of displeasing memories.

England's face lights up. "I can _show_ you," he says, getting up, he walks over to the counter and brings over a strange shiny flat object. Flipping it open, it makes a whirling noise as the blond taps his fingers on the funnily lettered blocks. "Here," he murmurs, pushing it at her.

Fumbling with it, Scotland only glances at the standing part once she's fixed the oddly light book-thing the way it was in front of England. She gasps, it's a small group; but she _recognizes _them. She sees England, frowning in a chair, Wales just as lithe, but far calmer seated a little higher on the arm of the chair beside England-he even grins mischievous at whoever painted the picture-then there's Ireland smirking and tall, hand squeezing England's shoulder and next to him-it's her! Taking in the womanly figure and smiling face, Scotland dreams longingly of the person she will be, looking a little off to the side, she notices a skinny boy standing half a foot away from the rest of them fiddling with a rock? Toy? in his hands.

"That's us?" She awes.

England smiles at her. "It is." He concurs.

Scotland feels tears pooling in her eyes; chewing her lip, she scrubs them away with her arm and whispers fiercely. "I _want _that, I want it _so bad_."

Her brother's hand reaches over and rests lightly on hers. "You'll have it," he promises, "It took a great deal of time and effort, but we're nearly the family I think we all want." England whispers to her.

Getting up from her chair, Scotland, in rare show, comes around the table and hugs her little brother that isn't around the neck and breathes, "_Please don't be lyin'._"

England pats her frail back, but doesn't say a word; distrusting what experience has taught her, Scotland chooses to believe the blond's lack of verbal reassurance and more of the physical kind means he wants her to feel that this family of hers is solid, based here in reality; not in sounds that fade and can be forgotten.

* * *

**Female!De-aged!Scotland, that's pretty uncommon, isn't it? I hope you guys liked this and will choose to review.**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Tomorrow will be Kinder (I Promise)**_

* * *

Helping her brother with the dishes from their "dinner" (though, it was better than her own cooking) Scotland can't stop thinking about the way her brother treats her. England's kind, he hasn't yelled at her once since they came to the kitchen, doesn't touch her unless she's looking at him first, and his eyes are always on her when she's talking (or not talking). Setting aside the last cup she dried, the girl lifts her piercing green eyes to her brother's face.

Gazing into the face that still clings to some of its boyhood glory, Scotland can still see the traces of the pudgy, dirty face she constantly cleans of snot and saliva. Furrowing her brow, she asks, "Why are ya bein' so nice? _I'm _a terrible sister, I yell at ya an' I let Ireland an' Wales throw things at ya," she hides her trembling hands by drying a plate with the rag England supplied her with, in no more than a whisper she adds, "I throw stuff at ya ta, sometimes."

England puts his fork aside and stares down at her with a look Scotland can't understand. Slowly, England reaches to her and lays a hand on her head; the redhead tenses and waits for him to grab her hair, to pull it, to force her to her knees, but all he does is smooth away the straying strands of her braid (it makes her want to cry). A wistfully sad smile on his face, England says to her, "I've had many little brothers and sisters over the years." Scotland waits as he falls silent and as his eyes disappear to a different time, shaking his head a little, he continues. "I've come to realize how _hard _children are, you don't expect to care for them as much as you do and when you do..." he trails off, when he doesn't say anything for a long while Scotland urges him on with a tug to his sleeve. "Ah, yes, I was older than you when I started being an older brother, but you? You were just a baby."

"Not a baby!" Scotland huffs.

England chuckles, fingers threading through her hair (ruining her braid, but she doesn't care; it's too nice). "No, I guess not to you, but to me? You seem so very young and to be saddled with three little brothers that all want your attention...well, that's not easy." He looks to her then, seeking her confirmation.

Scotland, though, doesn't give it a straight answer. "Ya look a lot like Mama Britannia, ya know? Sometimes it's hard when ya cry an' stuff an' all I can think is 'mama wouldn't be so disgusting an' cry at everything', but, then, I 'member yer jus' a baby." She says to England who accepts her story with a serious nod.

"Yes," he murmurs, "Babies are difficult."

"Yeah," the girl sighs, putting the last of the dishes aside.

Once he finishes drying his hands, England offers a hand to her. "Would you like to come with me and read?"

Scotland blushes and chews the end of her braid, it's not that she doesn't _want _to; it's that she doesn't know _how_. She'd _like _to, but watching out for her little brothers leaves little time for learning and she's only a _girl_-"You haven't learned yet, have you?" He states.

Scotland shakes her head.

Smiling brilliantly, England suggests, "I could teach you if you like." Scotland judges England, he _seems _earnest-eager even-slipping her hand into his, she gives it a serious yank.

"I want to."

Nodding, England leads her to a room just off the main one and hums contemplatively. "I have an excellent set of children's books to choose from," looking down at her happily, he tells her, "First we'll have to teach you the alphabet, I think."

Scotland nods, "'kay."

Taking a seat in the worn armchair in the middle of the room cramped with books, England pats his lap inviting her to sit with him. Heart picking up pace, the girl is fearful for a moment; but, then, she takes all her determination and settles herself down on her brother's bony legs. Wrapping an arm around her waist, the Englishman stretches his arm around and picks up a glossy black rectangle. Fingers dancing across the black, it comes to life and images and words dash and speed dizzily across the rectangle until Scotland covers it with both hands.

"What _is _this?" She demands.

England stills, then he chuckles and remarks "I haven't explained much of anything to you, have I?" Scotland doesn't answer, instead, she waits for him to go on. Brushing her smaller hands away from the smooth surface, England does his best to explain to her, "This is a tablet, it's connected to this giant library called the 'internet' and with the internet, we can learn anything from the alphabet to what the weather's like in China at this very moment."

The girl wrinkles her nose. "What's China."

Resting his chin on her head, her brother explains, "He's an eastern nation." After a pause, he suggests, "I could draw up a map now if you like."

Scotland shakes her head and nestles her head more firmly under her brother's chin as she pokes the screen. "Alphabet. Now." She orders.

England's chest vibrates with quiet laughter. "Alright," he agrees. Pulling up a row of letters, the blond points to the first one, "This is A as in apple, okay?"

Thrumming her small heels against his shins, Scotland leans in scrutinizing the image. "A as in apple..." she mutters.

His finger flows to the next, "B for brother." He tells her.

"Brother," she breathes. Staring up at her brother in a wondrous way, the redhead can't help but wish for England to be her older brother and not just her grown up baby one.

* * *

**Thank you for the reviews Arcnavy and IcarusWing, I appreciate it. Also, Thank you everyone who's reading this and I hope you'll consider leaving a review! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**_Tomorrow will be Kinder (I promise)_**

* * *

Man and girl spend hours pouring over letters and beginner English Primers, it leaves them satisfied and warm. Eventually, once Scotland has successfully sight-read Beatrix Potter's _Peter Rabbit _with little more than an occasional stutter or stumble, England offers to read to _her_. The redhead hesitates, gazing up at the blond through her sooty lashes; but she does agree.

Smiling widely, England pats the girl's knee asking her to get up. Reluctantly, Scotland slips off his warm lap and waits with crossed arms as England strides to a particular shelf of his library and runs his fingers over the many spines. "I've never been very certain of your preferences," he remarks, "But, then again, you've always seemed to detest anything to do with reading." He finishes quietly.

Staring down at her toes, Scotland tries not to be burdened by this new information; surely England doesn't mean to hurt her. Not after he's been so _nice _(but, hadn't _he _been nice first too?) Her brother makes an intricately pleased noise and turns away from the shelf a well-loved book in hand. "How does _Peter Pan _sound? It's a rather spectacular story of magical lands, faeries, pirates and flying children." He tells her.

Scotland bobs her head, eager to please. "Sounds lovely." She murmurs, mimicking England's speech pattern.

The smile he wears is almost shy, it's strange, the sister thinks. Guiding her back, England returns to his still warm armchair and excepts her relieved body without question. Cracking open the thick volume, England begins to read the blur of words in hushed tones and Scotland settles, eyes drifting closed as she lets herself become mesmerized by the siblings that remind her of herself and two oldest brothers; strangely, the spritely Peter Pan reminds her of England...a little boy so magical not even the girl he claims as his can truly tie him to her.

* * *

A number of hours later, when darkness has more than settled in on them; England carries his tiny sister back to her room tucking her into bed. He doesn't specifically remember having any youth potions in his stores, but he does know he had an aging potion or two on hand. All in all, Scotland should be back to her irritating self within a few more days; however...maybe he should by her an outfit or two, at least so she can look like she belongs to this era. Planting an affectionate kiss to her brow, England steps away and stares down uncomfortably at the innocent face. He would have reached out to touch her once more, just to make sure she's _real, _but the sound of feet lumbering into his home tells him North's returned from his weekend away at Ireland's.

Taking to the stairs, England watches passively as North's wiry build (so displeasingly like his own and Wales) curse as he fumbles with the broken lock. "I haven't gotten it fixed yet," the older nation calls.

North startles and swerves around to glare up at England. "What are ye doin' up? Ye're _never _up this late." He grumbles.

England shrugs. "Can't a brother welcome home his little brother?" He inquires far too innocently.

Northern Ireland glowers even more. "'gain, what are ye doin' up?" He demands.

"Really Patrick," England chides, but truthfully, he doesn't mind. His brother isn't the empathetic blissful boy he was, he's a _teenager _with all it entails; the restlessness, aggression and unfocused blame. North can spend every weekend he wants with Ireland, disappear from the home from dusk until late into the twilight; but as long as he returns to _him, _England doesn't mind (at least that's what he tells himself).

"Well?" The redhead urges huffily.

England tangles his fingers in his blond hair and scowls right back. "If I don't make you explain yourself why should I have to explain myself to you?"

North's face freckled face reddens and he looks ripe to breakout in indignant cries and half-reasoned arguments when a quiet voice stops him. "England?" Scotland calls from her room's doorway. Swiftly turning to the little girl, England approaches and sweeps her up in his arms (he's not without strength yet), "What is it lovely?" He inquires softly.

Sleepily, the girl frowns, England can see the workings behind her eyes before she can even speak. "I-" she stops and then questions quite flatly, "Can I sleep with ya?"

Kissing her cheek, England agrees. "If that's what you wish Wil."

Fixing her head under his chin, Scotland sighs. "Okay," she yawns.

"Who's that?" Their younger brother growls from a few feet away, England can see the envy in his meadow green eyes.

"Just Scotland," England explains, "She had a bit on an accident is all."

Taking a wary step towards them, North peers into the dazed girl's face. "Is that really ye Scotland?" He whispers.

"'m Scotland, but I don' 'member ya." She mumbles hiding another yawn in England's neck.

The teenager looks up at England with plain confusion written on his face. Hoisting the girl a bit more comfortably in his arms, England elaborates for her; "She's only remembers up to the age she is now."

"Oh." North blinks.

Fingers running soothingly through his young sister's hair, England says gently, "She should be asleep."

The redheaded boy flushes and drops his stare to his feet. "Sorry, I'll-I'll go ta bed."

Reaching out, England pats his younger brother's shoulder. "It's alright Patrick, you didn't know." He tells the boy, after all, the most experience he's had with younger children is Sealand and even _he _refuses to come around more than strictly necessary.

This understanding has always irked Northern Ireland, but tonight, he accepts it with a relieved nod. Eyeing this sister he's never seen so vulnerable or small he offers quietly, "I could help ye out until she's better if ye want."

England pauses, it seems this situation won't be such a waste after all. "We'd like that." He whispers tears pooling in his eyes.

Embarrassed, North shifts his eyes away and complains, "Don't get all sentimental on me."

Wiping away the forming tears, England chuckles and denies that the wetness was ever there. "I'm not."

Frowning steadily at the floor, the teenager says, "I'll see ye a' breakfast."

England smiles wholely. "I'm looking forward to it."

They part.

* * *

**I think I'm really figuring out where I want to go with this fic, I hope everyone's enjoying this as much as I am. Thanks to reviewers IcarusWing and 3shadowprincess, I appreciate it guys. Thank you for reading everybody and I hope you'll consider reviewing.**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Tomorrow will be Kinder (I promise)**_

* * *

Fixing a pot of tea, England decides to hold off on making breakfast and let North cook; as much as he hates to admit it, the boy's cooking is better than his own. Pouring a mug of tea, England drops into his chair and sighs happily at the silence as he pulls out his Ipad to read the morning's news. Flipping through it, he reads the interesting bits and wades through some of the more tedious (but, no less important) by the time he's half-way through he hears the sound of feet on the stairs. Looking up, he catches sight of his brother's copper hair and smiles.

"Good morning North," he greets.

The teenager grunts. "I'm makin' breakfast," he scowls.

Putting his Ipad down, England nods. "That's fine," he says to the younger nation.

"We got eggs?" The boy demands rummaging through the fridge.

"Bottom left, as always." England answers taking a gulp of his lukewarm tea.

"I'll scramble 'em an' make some toast." North says.

"Thank you, I'm sure Scotland will like that." England replies, getting up from his seat.

"What? Ye're not havin' none?" North demands grumpily.

"Maybe later," England mutters, "But, I'm going out to by an outfit or two for Wilma; what if we need to leave? I can't take her out dressed as she is." England explains.

"Ye're leavin' me _alone _with her?" North asks desperately.

Walking back towards the stairs, the blond turns and gives the teenager a half-reassuring, half-impish smile. "You'll be fine Patrick."

"She's not only a _kid _but a _girl-kid_!" Northern Ireland stresses.

Huffing with a bit of impatience, England glares at his brother briefly. "Look, all you need to do is feed her and then maybe read with her until I get back;" at the boy's dubious appearance, England's lips twitch and he adds, "She likes reading."

"Wa-ait!" The teenager whines, but his brother's gone up the stairs and come back with a jacket fixed on his shoulders.

Patting his brother's head, England promises, "No more than two hours, okay?"

Pouting, Ireland whispers, "What if she doesn't like me?"

The older man stares at him sympathetically. "She'll like you fine," his gaze turns distant and he mumbles, "She always has."

Warily, Northern Ireland watches for one of the dark moods that pulls his brother down so often; but, not today. Forcing a smile so bright, the older brother ruffles his teenage brother's hair and heads out the door swinging his car keys on his finger. "Two hours! Tops!" He calls closing the door behind him with a firm click.

Sighing, Northern Ireland gets to work.

* * *

Just as he finishes putting the food on two plates, he hears the patter of small feet. Glancing up, he sees Scotland rubbing at her eyes and leaning against the wall.

"'lo," he whispers.

"Where's England?" She inquires.

Putting the two plates on the table, Ireland pulls a smile on his lips and answers far too cheerily for the morning. "He's gone out ta get ye clothes!"

Plucking at the shapeless fabric that covers her, Scotland frowns. "I _have _clothes." She reminds him.

North nods. "Yeah, but not ones that'd fit in today."

Cocking her head to the side, the girl asks, "How long am I goin' ta be little?"

Beckoning her to the table, North doesn't answer at first; instead he racks his brain trying to remember if his brother ever told him how long Scotland would be a little girl. "Ye know," he mutters, "I don' think England's told me."

Poking at her breakfast, Scotland doesn't look at him when she asks quietly, "He'll be back soon?"

Exhaling, North slumps forward on his hand and pets her unruly red locks, (she shirks away) "Yeah, he'll be back soon."

Stabbing a particularly big piece of egg with her knife, Scotland scowls at her plate. "Good."

Slumping back in his chair, North mutters, "Ye an' me both sister-mine."

An hour and a half of awkward silence later, England returns with a bag in each hand; popping up from the floor in front of the tellie Scotland rushes him with glowing eyes. "What ya get me?" She demands inspecting the bags excitedly.

Putting them in front of the girl, England smiles with his hands on his hips. "Go on, take a look!" He exclaims.

Scotland hesitates for a moment and studies England's face, only actually touching the bag when England grins and nods at the bags a second time. Digging through them, Scotland begins to sort the items into two piles; eventually, when they are empty she pulls away.

Pointing to a pair of yellow plaid wellingtons and bright red jeans she says, "I like those."

England hums, "That's good, but you need a shirt if you want to wear those."

Looking to her other pile, Scotland shifts through the clothes and indifferently picks up a black pull-over. "This?"

"Yes," England nods, "Go on, get changed!" He chuckles, giving her a little push towards the bathroom. Items firmly in her grip, the girl giddily walks to the bathroom closing the door enough behind her that they could only see a sliver of bathroom light. A few minutes later, the girls steps out, dressed in her clothes blushing and staring down at her sweet little boots.

"You look lovely!" England gushes, making a twirling motion with his finger. Obligingly, Scotland turns in a tight little circle, flush darkening here and there as England makes happy noises. "Perfect!" England smirks, "Come here, let me put your hair in a braid." He tells her.

Skipping to his side, Scotland lets North's brother part her hair into two little braid-pigtails and tie them off with green bands. "You wouldn't ever guess you didn't belong here!" England murmurs with much satisfaction.

Scotland's eyes light up and with unexpected reluctance asks, "How long am I goin' ta be like this?"

England pauses, "What do you mean?" He frowns.

"A lil'lass." Scotland replies.

Tapping his chin, England shrugs. "I'm not sure, though, you should be yourself again by the end of the week."

"Okay," the girl accepts, shyly, she reaches out and hugs her brother. "Thanks fer buyin' me this stuff."

Patting her head, England stares down fondly. "It's not a problem Wil."

"Can we read a new book?" She begs.

England smirks. "Of course, how about _The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe_?" He inquires, glancing up to North, he says slyly, "I remember it being a favorite of North's when he was younger."

The girl looks to him. "Really?" She questions.

Shifting uncomfortably, the redhead nods. "Yeah, I guess I liked it..."

"Ya listen with me then," Scotland decides, "England's a good reader." She compliments.

"It's 'cause he's had a lot of practice." North mutters a bit sourly.

Scotland blinks a bit nervously and England hushes the teenager with a quiet, "That's enough." Staring down the boy, he demands, "Are you going to read with us?"

Shoving his hands in his pockets, North glances away. "Yeah, fine."

Getting the book, the trio soon settle comfortably on the couch, England locked between two warm bodies as the words flow from his lips in an enchantment stronger than any spell.

* * *

**Thanks for reading everybody, please review. To Bookwormgirl2 and IcarusWing, thanks for the reviews last chapter.**


	5. Chapter 5

_**Tomorrow will be Kinder, (I Promise)**_

* * *

She wishes it could stay like this, just the three of them; with this England she doesn't know, but loves more than the one she does know (does that make her a bad sister?), with his expressive green eyes, gentle smiles, knowledge of braids and even his awful cooking, with Northern Ireland, for all his foulness of temper, grumbling and complaining, the way he tries to talk to her, careful and earnest, she knows he loves her.

But, then, she should have know just wishing for such a thing would shatter the little haven she imagined.

* * *

"_Mon ami~_" A voice calls from the front of the home.

Glancing up from the puzzle the three of them are doing, Scotland asks, "Who's that?"

North and England share a tense glance before a smile plasters itself to England's face (Scotland knows not to trust it) "Do you remember France, Wilma?" He asks softly. "The one across the channel?" He adds at her hesitancy.

Scotland does, she remembers the delicate boy from across the channel who couldn't be any older than Ireland and in all his childish wisdom tried to convince her England would he safer with him than her. But, she knew better, he was no stronger than her; they were one in the same. If he couldn't protect himself (though, neither could she) how could he protect England better than her? He couldn't. Scotland would do her damnedest to keep all her brothers safe_ and_ together, even if-if sometimes she thinks she hates her little brother (it's not fair, why's he look so much like mumma?).

Meeting her brother's eyes, the girl nods. "I do."

"_Mon Angleterre_! I know you're 'ome! I see you're car parked out 'ere!" France shouts through the door sounding torn between amusement and irritation.

Getting to his feet, North grumbles, "He's not goin' ta leave."

England sighs run a hand through his already messy hair. "Take Scotland upstairs and keep her occupied for a few hours...hopefully he'll be bored by then."

Stubbornly, Scotland puts herself between her brothers. "No," she scowls, "I _will _see France." She makes it a statement, but both the blond and redhead's face twist with unsaid arguments.

Kneeling down, England puts a hand on her narrow shoulder. "Are you sure Wilma?" He inquires.

Blowing a loose strand of red from her face, Scotland nods. "Yeah, more sure 'bout this than anythin' else so far."

Those green eyes are pained, but he doesn't fight her. "Okay," he whispers, looking up to North, her brother orders, "Get the door."

The teenager leaves, when he returns, a flamboyant France has an arm around his shoulders and is chattering away at the frowning boy; when he sees England, he abandons North to drape himself on England. "_Mon lapin_!" He coos. Glancing behind the Englishman's shoulder, the Frenchman's eyes widen at the sight of the little girl. Scrambling back from England, he hisses, "_Écosse_!"

Scotland steps towards him, a bit more disappointed than sad, the girl whispers, "You're just like him."

Blue eyes blazing with cold fire, France understands Immediately. "_Non!_" He denies.

Angry now, she stomps her foot and shouts, "What do ya call it then!? Ya force yer way in an' then ya go throwin' yerself on people!"

Northern Ireland's and England's eyes follow the two's undisclosed argument with no small amount of worry. Face tight and hands in heavy fists, France shakes his head. "_Non_, never, I've never..."

Scotland crosses her arms and stares at him.

Struggling with the past long put away, France falls to his knees in front of the child. "_Never, _I've never taken advantage to exert my power." He whispers to her.

Looking him levelly, Scotland questions, "Did he ever do it again? After the first time?"

France opens his mouth, but doesn't say anything at first, "..._oui_." He breathes.

Scotland gives a hiccupping giggle. "Good ta know I wasn't the only one." Then with sudden ferocity, she demands, "What about England? Did he ever get England?"

Northern Ireland looks up at his older brother, but the blond seems as much at a loss as him; so he simply waits for France to go on. The man laughs. "_Non_ a wish fulfilled for both of us, I suppose." He answers with some triumph.

"Why not?" Scotland asks, "Ya said he liked pretty things."

The older nation frowns. "You know why," he murmurs, "We gave up ourselves."

Scotland takes a shuddering breath. "I-" she stops, "Does it mean I'm a good sister? Do good sisters give themselves away fer their siblings?"

Horror dawns on England and with a sudden surge of motion is at his sister's and France's side. Taking the girl in his arms, he looks between his not perfect-but dependable sister and his older brother-like figure. "Don't tell me you two-"

"It 'ad nothing to do with you at first." France cuts him off, eyes shifting he mutters, "It just turned into protecting you once his eyes found yours."

Tears bubbling up, England whispers, "Why did you do it? Why did you do that to yourselves?"

Little hand slithering up against him until it rests on his cheek, England's eyes meet Scotland's shimmering ones. "Because we love ya," she utters.

The tears spill then, crying a lot harder than he thought he would, England whimpers, "You were _children_! How-How could he _do _that?"

France sighs and brings both England and Scotland against him, resting his chin on England's blond head he glances up to see North hovering with wide eyes. Gesturing him down, He lets the teenager cling to his arm and kisses England's head. "It is what it is, _mon lapin,_" the older nation mumbles.

"You're supposed to protect-_nurture_-children, not hurt them." He sniffs.

Face muffled in her brother's chest, Scotland's voice still manages to carry. "That's why we protected you."

"What about ye guys? Who protected ye?" North asks, but no one has an answer for him.

* * *

**I don't know if it's obvious at this point, or even obvious to who I'm alluding too...but, no, I don't usually think of him as a pedophile; just for this story. So, thanks for reading and please review. To IcarusWing, JorwayBlacknight, 3ShadowPrincess, Bookwormgirl2 and Yunike08 thanks for your reviews last chapter! : )**

_**Words:**_

_**Non-No**_

_**Oui-Yes**_

_********__Ecosse-Scotland_

_********__Mon Ami-My friend_

_**Mon Lapin-My Rabbit**_

_****__**(Mon) Angleterre-(My) England**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Tomorrow will Be Kinder (I Promise)**_

* * *

Children long ago passed out in front of a tellie after a marathon of Disney and Pixar Movies, France and England slip away silently into the kitchen. Strangely, neither speaks as France whips up a quick batch of scones and as England makes himself tea and coffee for France. When the drinks are warm and the treats in the oven, the two gravitate to the kitchen table England and his siblings had only sat at this morning. Passing the Frenchman his mug, England takes a swallow of his tea (not minding the scalding he gets).

Not daring to look at each other in more than glances, the two don't say anything for a long time-not until France has gotten up and set the perfectly cooked scones out to cool. Once he sits back down and gulps down his now lukewarm coffee, does he initiate eye-contact with England. Nervously, the younger nation attempts to break it; but, France doesn't allow it. "'ow long will she..." he stops for a moment, face oddly contorted, "Be a_ child_?"

England arches his back and throws his arms above his head in a manner of stretching away the weariness the question brings. He briefly hopes France will let it go, but with a quick flicker of his stare in the older blond's direction he realizes that this isn't something he will. Sighing an aching pain, he answers, "A day or two more at the least, a week at most."

France hums. "Maybe you should take a visit to one of your brothers," he remarks, "If anyone else comes visiting like myself, I can't promise they'll have good intentions towards Wilma or that they won't do something to 'er."

England's fingers twist in his shirt (stupid, childish, habit) "You don't truly think they'd do something to her, do you?" He fusses earnestly.

Blue eyes glimmer with an emotion England can't quite identify on the Frenchman, frowning, (_Oh, he's sad_) the man whispers, "We did are best raising our colonies, but some of them..." France shrugs, "They are a bit too greedy and capable for my liking."

England's shoulders slump with this heavy knowing. "I've seen it to," he admits. Looking up at his elder with pained eyes, he whispers, "You think they'll hurt her like he did."

France drops his gaze to the table. "I don't know," he scowls.

Miserable, England mutters, "It wasn't just you two, was it?"

Brows knitting and jaw clenched, France says, "I 'ave my suspicions," glancing up, he whispers, "I know Portugal for certain-Spain witnessed it from behind a tree."

England kneads at his eyes; the worst kind of headache forming. "I hate to think how young some of you must have been." He comments.

A strange smile sweeps across France's face. "Not young enough, obviously." He chuckles.

Perturbed, England stares at him. "I'll not question you anymore," he states.

Relaxing a fraction, France smiles a little kinder, "_Merci_." Standing up, he brushes imaginary dust from his clothing and remarks, "It's time I be going." Still straightening out his clothes, he orders England to "Tell your sister she was a good sister-not perfect-but good where it counted."

Following the Frenchman out, the Englishman waves him goodbye. "Good-bye Francis."

Smiling up the cloudy nighttime sky, France nods, his back to England; "_Au revior _Arthur," He echoes; yet, the older nation doesn't move. "I truly think you should consider visiting a different house for a time." He reminds England.

Nodding his head, England begins to close the door and quietly concludes with, "I'll sleep on it Francis."

The Frenchman begins to walk away and England shuts the door with a clank; locking it behind him.

* * *

Coming to his living room, he stares down at the two equally freckled faces and thinks sadly of today's revelations. One an innocent, the other a child too knowing; it explains quite a bit of behavior. The shying, the hesitation, the lack of initiation for touch...Gulping back a sob, he picks up his sister causing the boy to stir as Scotland begins to drool on his shoulder.

"England?" The teenager yawns.

"Come up to bed, Patrick." He implores of the boy.

The teenager stops and stares down at the ground. "Can I sleep with ye?" He utters.

England reaches out ruffling the boy's red locks. "Scotland is, I don't see why you can't." The older brother smiles.

Looking up, those green eyes nervously shift. "Is there enough room?"

England chuckles. "Theirs always enough room, more than enough even."

Sheepishly, the boy grins back. "Okay, I guess."

Putting his hand out for taking and comfort, England murmurs, "Ready sleepyhead?"

Fingers soft and free of major blemishes, cling to his scarred ones. "Lead the way." North whispers.

Taking them up to his room, England settles between his little brother and sister, promising both in the silence he'll be a better brother; one they can always come to.

* * *

**I think I'll be wrapping this story up in a couple chapters, thanks for reading this far. To IcarusWing and Yunike08 thank you for the reviews! :)**

_**Words:**_

_**Merci-Thanks**_

_**Au Revior-Goodbye**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**Tomorrow will be Kinder (I Promise)**_

* * *

Making sure the smallest rain-coat they owned was covering her well, England barely hears her question. "Why are we leaving?" She inquires not for the first time.

Rolling up the sleeves to the coat, England chides gently, "I've told you before," But, he explains again for his wary sister. "We're going because then we'll be less likely to get unexpected visitors."

The girl bites her lip. "Are we goin' ta Wales or Ireland?" She implores.

Taking a step back to inspect his work, the blond shakes his head. "No, maybe in few days we could go to Ireland if you're still like this." He tells her.

"Where are we goin' then?" She asks.

Lost in fixing a line of buttons that didn't turn out as well as he first thought, England hardly hears her soft question. "Hm?"England murmurs, glancing up into the freckled face, he sees her eyes trying to shield her anxiousness. "Oh, just to a flat in Belfast." He explains giving her a reassuring smile.

"It's _my _flat." North sulks coming over with an umbrella in his arms and-no coat, England sighs and shakes his head; he doesn't understand children these days. What's wrong with wearing a coat?

Flickering a glare at the teenager, England says to him. "Yes, your flat, but _who _pays for it?" North winces and looks to his feet. Looking back to his wary sister, England hauls her up into his arms. "Come on, it'll be a lovely time." He remarks coaxing his younger brother to follow. Tossing the keys to the car to the redheaded boy, England tells him. "You can drive." The grin he gets is by far the most dazzling thing he's seen from North in a number of years.

At first, Scotland curls into his side; but as she gets used to the car and driving she unfurls to look out the window. Face one of utter amazement, she turns excited to her brother and points to the great many innovations. "Look at _all _the houses!" She coos, "And those two-wheel contraptions." Pausing, the girl looks hopefully to England. "Could I learn ta drive one of those things? I see littler lads and lasses on 'em." She comments.

England gently pulls her back into her seat and readjusts her seat-belt. "If you'd like to, I think North has a bike from when he was smaller at his flat."

From the front, North calls back. "I do," looking back briefly, he adds, "Though, it'll be a wee big still."

Smiling happily, the girl insists, "I can do it!"

The two brothers laugh and England runs a hand down her back. "I don't doubt you could."

The car ride is very pleasant, if not quite long and by the time they're at North's apartment Scotland's fussing and tired (as is Northern Ireland). Ushering the two children up to the flat, England opens the door and looks in carefully to find it a bit dusty, but still in reasonable condition. "Can we eat now?" North demands, as he nearly trips over a yawning Scotland.

England nods. "All call up some delivery, I think." He says to the boy who flops down on his couch and flips on the tellie.

"Wicked." He mutters as Scotland curls up at his feet.

Heading for the kitchen to fix some tea for all of them, England shouts. "Make sure you're watching age appropriate shows, Patrick!"

* * *

He wakes up to warm puffs of breath fanning across his jaw and glancing down, he sees Scotland curled against him and on the other side North is half on the bed and half off the bed, snoring mildly. Sighing at all the extra bodies, England sits up gingerly and wonders why he ever thought a one bedroom flat in Belfast was the way to go. Squirming out from beneath the youthful forms, England makes his way to the bathroom down the hall. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, England laughs; He has dark circles beneath his eyes and his hair is so messy he wonders if a brush will ever get through it again. Putting a scarred hand to the mirror, England wonders if he only feels old because of the children in the other room or simply if it's because he _is _old.

Wistfully, he smiles at his reflection and whispers, "You aren't so old yet, are you?" Because there are still nations older than him, (France, Portugal, China, ect.) It's just...the revelations and stresses of the past few days have really gotten to him. He'd forgotten how _hard _having children around is, how absolutely heartbreaking and heartwarming it is. Vaguely hoping Scotland's return to herself will happen sooner than later, England puts the bathroom's odd cup beneath the tap and fills it half way and downs it; there won't be drinking tonight.

Coming back to the bed, he looks down on the two redheaded children and thinks they fit, all they need is Ireland and they'd be a perfect little family. Him and Wales have always been the odd ones of the bunch (him more than Wales), but England can't find any spite to feel about it. No, his brother is too dear to him, one of the last who still stick around and his sister too endearing at this point to ever hate. Muffling a yawn, England leaves the boy and girl to relocate to the couch for the rest of the night.

In the morning, maybe he'll have his big sister back.

* * *

**Weeell, this is a little later than I had expected; sorry about that guys. I hope everyone's enjoying it so far and thanks for the reviews Yunikeo8, IcarusWing, and Bookwormgirl2. Thank you for reading everybody and please review! :)**


	8. Chapter 8

_**Tomorrow will be Kinder (I Promise)**_

* * *

"This way Wil!" England shouts to the tiny girl on the too big bike. The girl gives him a toothy grin and taking a wobbly turn, she squeals as her bike begins to tip; but, North quickens to her side and helps her right herself again. Grinning at the two as they approach, the older nation tucks his hands into his pockets and begins to walk on the other side of the bike. "How do you like cycling?" He asks the girl.

"It's fun!" She laughs, face red from exercise and joy.

England chuckles. "I'm glad to hear it." Then craning his neck to look at North who has a hand on the back of the bike, he inquires, "What about you Patrick? How are you holding up?"

The boy gives him a quick smile. "...It's not awful." He concedes.

"Yes.." Arthur agrees looking around the little park; while not a bright sunny day, it's not too cold and sometimes a ray of sun peeks through the gathered clouds.

Pedaling faster, Scotland wavers for a moment before correcting herself. "Can we come back 'morrow?" She calls back to them.

"If it's not raining." England answers, "And still a girl." He murmurs to himself.

Looking to his teenage brother, he implores, "Know any good pubs around here?"

The redhead bobs his head. "Yeah, a couple streets right o' here." He explains.

Smiling at his brother, England does something he rarely does sober-he tosses an arm around his brother's shoulder-the boy stares at him with a spark of surprise in his eyes. "Excellent." England says.

"Look!" Scotland shouts, pointing to a little pond. Stopping her bike, she gets off leaving it by the path's edge to run to the pond. Kneeling down by the edge, she wraps her skinny arms around her legs and points to a mother duck and a gaggle of ducklings. "Aren't they sweet?" She coos, looking to her brothers.

Meandering over with North, England smiles at his sister. She's a good girl. "They are." He agrees.

Wilma smiles up at him. "I'd take ya ta ponds sometimes when ya were little." She remarks.

"Oh?" England mutters, thinking on it, he vaguely does remember spending quite a bit of time watching ponds (though he always preferred fields where rabbits lived).

"Uh-huh," she nods gazing at the quacking creatures bobbing in the water. "Ya were the only one who'd sit with me for mo' than a few minutes."

England hums. "I suppose we've always had more patience for things of that sort."

Scotland glances at him. "Yeah? Just us?" She repeats. England nods, not completely following.

Getting up from the ground and dusting the grass from her jeans, Scotland approaches taking her brother's hand. "I like that." She tells him.

England squeezes the small hand and swallows hard. He wishes they could always be so open with another, in fact, he wishes he could be so open with _all _his siblings. "I like it too," he whispers to her.

Wilma smiles brighter. "I'm hungry, are we goin' home soon?" She inquires.

England shook his head. "I thought we'd hit a pub, does that sound good?" He implores.

Scotland hums. "I can have fish?" She tests.

England nods. "If that's what you want."

Scotland let's go his hand and hurries to grab her bike. "Then let's go!"

Letting the girl take lead, Arthur and Patrick follow behind her.

* * *

Humming one of those songs she heard on the thing called a "radio" Scotland bounces between her two brothers. England told her not to ride on the walk, 'cause it wasn't polite; but said she could ride it again through the park on their way back to North's flat. She stops suddenly, staring at a man playing an instrument on the street. Watching, she smiles back when he grins in her direction; she feels England bump her shoulder. Glancing up, she see's the man's holding out a pound in his hand.

"Tip the good fellow." England explains, smiling at her brother, the girl takes the money and drops it into the instrument's case.

"Thank ye." The man says.

Grinning toothily, Wilma bobs her head at him. "Ya welcome." Stepping back, she skips to her brother and takes one of his hands.

"Are there a lot of people like him?" She asks.

He nods. "Oh yes, even more so in London." He mutters.

Scotland frowns. "But that's _his _city." She utters.

England looks at her, eyes clouding. "It was," he agrees, "But it's my capital these days."

Leaning against his side, Scotland can't help but wonder if anything she remembers is still the same. "Do they look the same?" She whispers.

Plucking her from the ground, England holds her with sudden ferocity. "No," he croaks, "Hardly at all."

Taking a breath, the girl takes comfort in this information. "Good," she mumbles, "I like that," Breath fanning across his neck, she murmurs "It makes it seem farther away-longer."

She feels his chin tremble in her hair. "I'm happy for you." He breathes.

Pulling away, she looks into those painful but favorite green and smiles wider than she ever has before. "I'm happy for _ya._"

He stops and stares at her. "You mean that," he mutters, "Don't you?" He seems so awed by this.

Scotland, who's come to adore these big boys who feel so safe and gentle can only smile a little. "I wouldn't say so if I didn't would I?" She inquires.

Arthur kisses her cheek. She returns the gratitude one better, a peck to the nose; everyone laughs.

* * *

**This feels like a lighter chapter, doesn't it? Expect this to be done in another few chapters, I think. Hey, thanks IcarusWing and Yunike08 for your reviews, I appreciate it. Thanks for reading everybody and review! :)**

**P.S. If your into my RotG stuff, I have a poll for what I should do next on my page.**


	9. Chapter 9

_**Tomorrow will be Kinder (I Promise)**_

* * *

When Scotland wakes up, she's more than a little confused and her mind's more than a little jumbled. Laying still, she feels the warmth ebbing and flowing across her face and around her middle she feels and arm clinging to her. Shifting her head just enough to not intensify the throbbing in the back of her skull, she sees Patrick's face only millimeters from her own and moving her head again, she glimpses England's shock of blond hair, the only part of his head not muffled in the bed spread. Flexing her toes and then wriggling her fingers, the woman takes a breath and closes her eyes.

She's been...she's been a girl, hasn't she? A wee lass at that. Her heart flutters as she realizes how open she was with her brothers, how she told them what she-she _did_. Oh lord, lordy...what is she going to do now? They're going to _ask _things and _look _at her, she can't _do _this! Fighting away the panic, she slips her way out of England's grip and with much care slithers down the middle of the small bed until she can get her feet on the floor and slump the rest of her body down into a crouch. Head spinning, she bites back a groan and takes notice of her clothes. Rolling her eyes as the too tight gown, she wonders why the potion gave her young self clothing, but couldn't give her back her old clothes. Grumbling, She sways as she gets up and shifting through some of England's clothes, snags a pair of jeans and a hoodie. Nothing will fit well, but at least it will cover her.

Once dressed, she steasl England's car keys and hurries to leave. She hesitates at the door, should she leave a note? Finding her missing would be quite a nasty surprise...shaking her head (and cursing herself for doing it) she decides they'll be okay; the tiny nightgown in the bathroom, England's missing clothes and car keys will be enough for them to figure it out. Getting to her brother's car she starts it up and grips the wheel. She has a few things she needs to do, first, hit her house for some clothes and then...then she needs to pay a certain _Frenchman _a visit.

* * *

When he gets the knocking at his door, France isn't surprised to see the woman on the other side when he opens it. Roving his eyes over her, he leers, "My, my, 'avent you grown up _petite_?"

She glowers at him. "Shut yer ugly mug, none of that crap, ya hear?" She growls.

France leans against his door and pouts. "Does _mon lapin _know you're 'ere?" He inquires. Scotland shifts on her feet, smile slicing across his face; France feels pleasure at the tell-tale he's learned from years of knowing her. "'e _doesn't,_ does 'e?" The blond titters.

Scotland glares at him, those thick brows scrunching unbecomingly. "He ain't my keeper, he don't need ta know what I do with _my _self."

Leaning in on the redhead, France breathes, "Oh but _Angleterre _was, _mon amour_."

Teeth gritting in that familiar way, she bites, "Fer a week!"

Falling back, France considers her falsely. "Ah, but that brother of yours 'as always been soft towards children; attaches far too easily to them." The Frenchman remarks.

The woman's face turns red. Hand shooting out, she grabs him with a strength not bellied by her form. "Ya listen here ya _disgustin' frog_!" She hisses, "Ya don't tell that idiot anythin', got it?" Scotland threatens.

Fingers coming to caress the fist wrinkling his shirt, France only grins. "Of course _mon cher_."

"Goddamnit!" Scotland shrieks,"Be fuckin' serious fer once in yer goddamn existence!"

Hands coming to rest on either cheek, the blond captures those unreal green eyes with his blue. "I _do _mean it."

The woman quivers. "Really?" She whispers, "Ya won't?"

"You're not-" he stops and bites his lip. Looking away from those desperate eyes, he utters, "You're not the only one who's _ashamed._

Scotland gives a little laugh. "The way ya go 'bout, some would think ya _revel _in it."

France stares at her. "Better to conquer it then to 'ide from it." He states.

Wilma gives him a pitying stare. "Ya know that's not true, every time ya do it, ya're so scared that ya'll lose the control and it'll-"

"Stop!" Francis snaps. Seething, he sneers. "At least I don't shirk away from affection to the point that I can't even accept it from my _family_."

Wil looks away. "At least I still got family," she counters, "Where's that boy of yers? The girl? They don't come by much do they?"

The blond scowls. "Leave." He growls, "before I change my mind."

The woman gazes at him in the most understanding of ways; he _hates _it, _hates _that he feels the same way about her..."Good bye, then." She mumbles.

"_Au revoir,_" The man returns through clenched teeth.

She turns away, hips swaying as she goes. Francis watches, swallowing thickly, he closes the door.

* * *

**So Scotland's grown again! What does everyone think? Next chapter I'm thinking she'll have some sort of confrontation with England, but we'll see.**

**Thank you for the review Yunike08 last chapter and to everyone else, thanks a bunch for reading and please review! :)**

**Words:**

_**Petite-**_**Little One**

_**Angleterre-**_**England**

_**Mon Lapin-**_**My Rabbit**

_**Mon Amour-**_**My Love**

_**Mon Cher-**_**My Dear**

_**Au Revoir-**_**Good bye**


	10. Chapter 10

_**Tomorrow will be Kinder (I Promise)**_

* * *

It's two weeks before England attempts to visit his sister, two long and difficult weeks. When he goes to her door, he doesn't expect her to open it if he knocks, or to greet him when he lets himself in; but, what he _doesn't _expect is not to find her at all.

"Bollocks!" He curses, "Where the hell are you Wil?" Anxiously, he tries to think of somewhere he might find her. Irelands? Wales? No, she probably doesn't know if England told them or not. Where then? Walking through her kitchen, he sees empty alcohol bottles of all kinds scattered on the tables and floor; sighing, England runs a hand through his hair. A pub. That's where he'll find her; now which one, that's the question.

* * *

The Englishman ends up searching not only the whole of Old Town, but New Town and South Side before he finds her in a tiny pub tucked away off a main thorough way back in Old Town. She's seated at the bar, several empty bottles around her. Sighing, England comes and sits beside her. "What are you doing Wil?" He asks.

Her blood-shot eyes meet his. "Lookin' fer me now, are ya?" She grumbles.

England frowns. "I thought you would appreciate some time to sort things out." He explains to her.

Downing the last of her most recent bottle, the woman spits, "Well, I bloody didn't."

The man's shoulders slump. "I'm sorry Wilma," he whispers.

Scotland slams her bottle on the counter-cracking it. "Don't tell me 'sorry', it don't mean nothing other than ya pity me, an' I don' _want _none o' that!" She snaps.

England tenses, "What do you want from me then Wil?" He demands.

She stops. "I want ya ta pretend none o' it ever happened." She whispers.

The blond looks to his hands. "Children are so precious," he says, "You try to give them everything-just so you can see that light in their eyes that says they're happy..." fingers curling into fists, he goes on, "But, then, they reject you and everything you've given them and you know what? It hurts, because it means they're trying to erase you." Tears glistening in his eyes, England looks at his speechless sister "And sometimes, it's the other way around; the child giving everything to that special adult or older sibling."

"Arthur-" Scotland mutters.

"No!" Arthur snarls, "I've done both parts! I'm done with everyone trying to pretend I wasn't their family!" He yells. "I'm done Scotland!" Shooting up from his seat, England leaves the pub.

Scotland sits there numb and despondent, is that what her brother thinks? That she's trying to pretend they aren't family? That he didn't help her? That she didn't help him? Thoughts spinning dizzily in her drunken mind, Scotland realizes for the millionth time she doesn't understand her little brother (no one does).

Going home, Scotland doesn't even take off her shoes or brush her teeth before crashing in her crumpled bedding. She dreams of screaming, blood and tearful green eyes.

* * *

Lighting a cigarette, France takes a deep drag before letting it unfurl from his lips. "I don't know why you keep coming to see _moi,_" he says, "you should be talking to your _frère._"

Eyeing him over her glass of wine, Scotland scowls. "That's a disgustin' habit," she comments.

The blond nation roles his eyes. "And your drinking isn't?" He counters.

Sipping her wine with twisted lips, Scotland snaps, "At least _my _bad habit don't make _others _sick."

A cruel smile rising on his lips, France hisses, "_Non, _it just leaves you with emotionally stunted relationships." The woman flinches. Sighing, France rolls his lips around the cigarette. "Look _mon amour, _Rome 'urt us; but, that doesn't mean you can force _Angleterre _to pretend you were never a _bébé."_

With a defiant look on her face, Scotland grumbles, "I _do _remember being a kid, I wasn't a _bébé._"

France waves his hand. "That is beside the point," he says. Stamping out his cigarette, he puts his hands on the table and says, "Now, your _frère _is upstairs sleeping; go up and talk to 'im and I'll make dinner for all of us." Using his hand to push himself up and away, the Frenchman heads into the kitchen; leaving Scotland open mouthed.

With a great deal of hesitation and indecision, Scotland does go up stairs. She finds her brother in France's room still dressed in the clothes he was wearing when she last saw him. Stopping in the doorway, she stares down at the young face and can't stop her chest from aching; he's really not all that old, but he's done so much more than many of them ever had. Sighing, she comes to sit down beside him on the mattress.

Fingers coming to tangle in his unmanageable blond hair, she's reminded of being a very tiny tot watching her mother try and work out the tangles in her own blond hair. Eyes wandering down to the bushy brows, thick lashes hiding green eyes, to his aristocrat nose, thin lips and strong jaw familiar to all her family; she can't help but wish his face was more like there mothers, less like it. "Ya don't know hard it is, boy," she whispers, "To look an' see mum every time." The statement is bitter, but her tone is warm.

Hand slipping down to his bony shoulder, she pauses before she shakes him; he can sleep a little longer, can't he? Scotland wouldn't mind waiting; it would give her time to think about what she was going to say to him.

* * *

**I've revealed the person who hurt Scotland and France (and Portugal), now, this isn't my usual view of the character; but, just a characterization for this story, okay? ****Here we are guys, just one more chapter for sure! **Now what happens after the chapter...and epilogue? Would anybody have an idea for the epilogue possibly? I don't right now. Anyway, it'll be a couple weeks before the last chapter's up because I'm going to Spain! :D

**Thanks for reading guys and please review!**

_**Words:**_

_**Moi-Me**_

_****__Bébé-Baby_

_****____Frère-Brother_

_****____Mon Amour-My Love_

_****____Angleterre-England_


	11. Chapter 11

_**Tomorrow will be Kinder (I Promise)**_

* * *

He wakes feeling more content than when fell asleep; a hand works through his thick hair, gently undoing the tangles in his hair. Still breathing slow and deep, England makes conscious decision to keep doing so as he lifts his eyelids a centimeter. In the end, his surprise ruins the peacefulness; he glimpses his sisters face soft and sweet as she looks down upon him, her fingers in his hair. He gasps and her fingers fist into his hair so hard it hurts, "Scotland?" He ends up whimpering.

The woman's hand detangles from his once again knotted locks; guiltily she pulls away from him, her face returning to it's usual cool state of reserve. "England," she returns, slowly turning her body away from him.

England panics, not again; anything but this. "Don't!" he starts, reaching out and snagging her wrist. She turns rigid and her eyes shoot a sharp look at him, yanking away she bares her teeth.

"Don't ya dare touch me." She hisses.

England drops his hand back the bed and moves his stare to the opposite wall. "Why do you hate me Scotland?"

He hears her breath hitch. "What?" She whispers.

The man doesn't dare to look at her; just can't. "You always have," he murmurs, "Just like everyone else-"

"Where the bloody hell did ya get _that _idea?" She splutters.

Feeling more than angry with his far too confusing sister, England cries, "How do you think? You insult me, you send me spells and pelt rocks at me! On more than one occasion you've brushed me off or out right told me to fuck off!"

Scotland stares at him in horror. She didn't hate him-couldn't if she tried. Breath hitching wildly, she scrambles to find the right thing to say. She can't lose him-not the one thing her mother promised her to do good by. "I-" she begins, eyes wide and on the brother who refuses to look her in the eye. Sighing, she looks down at her hands and imagines them smaller-even smaller than they were weeks before; barely big enough to hold a dagger, let alone a baby. She had though, she had held both in each hand.

"I remember when ya were born," she whispers, "It had been a hard labor, harder than Wales-I remember that one at least-she was dying even then..." Glancing up, she sees he still refuses to look at her face, but she's encouraged by the way his shoulder almost face towards her. "Ya were born bloody and screaming, but, mum took ya in her arms an' she laughed an' cried as she sang ta ya; ya quieted so fast, I thought she was spellin' ya silent." Bowing her head, the redhead goes on, "She called us all over then, an' she showed us yer wee face." She barks a laughs, "I thought ya were ugly, but mum just said ya were just new."

Flickering her eyes up, she sees England's uncomprehending gaze brooding at her. The slightest tremor taking her voice she pushes to tell him the most important part. "She been sick a good while," she whispers, "So long that I'd gotten used ta bein' the one ta take care o' things...but, no one wants their mother ta die." England's looking at her then, taking a breath of relief, Scotland finishes. "She been coughin', coughin' so hard...I went to her an' helped her up; blood was all over her hands an' I-ya know what she said? She told me ta do right by ya, an' the others, told me ta take her dagger an' keep ya all alive." Tears falling for the first time in years for her mother, Scotland breathes, "She died by mornin' an' I kept my promise."

Voice gruff, England growls, "Kept your promise did you?" Scotland sees he's angry, but can't bring herself to feel upset about it.

"Ya come ta France when things get bad, don't ya? Ya aren't dead, are ya?" She reminds him. Fingers clenching, she mumbles, "I did my part, kept ya from the man who killed our mother an' made sure ya never had ta go through any of what I did."

"That doesn't explain why you were so cruel," her brother bites.

Scotland laughs. "Yer practically her spittin' image, I couldn't stand it then-sometimes even now." England looks unimpressed (not that she expected much else). Licking her lips, Scotland holds out a single beseeching hand. "I-I don't hate ya, I _do _love ya; I do..." She feels completely silly and ineffectual, but her brother's eyes widen and his mouth parts.

He runs a hand through his hair. "God...why do you always let things get so out of hand, Wilma?" He exhales.

The sister can only shrug. "I wouldn't be me, if I didn't, now would I?" She says, cracking a bit of a smile.

Arthur grins back. "No I suppose you wouldn't," he agrees. A nervous edge returning to his features, he implores one last time, "You don't hate me?"

"Never." Scotland states firmly.

Shyly, England offers, "I know you probably won't like to talk about him...and the things he did ever, but if you...I don't know, need someone ever, I could-could be there if you want."

Scotland takes him into a rare hug. "A good lad ya are," she remarks. "C'mon Francis is downstairs cookin' us a meal." She says to him, hooking his arm with hers and guiding him towards the stairs. Their arms stay linked until they are forced to let go just outside the kitchen, lest France catch them; though, if the way the Frenchman smiles throughout the meal is anything to go by, he probably glimpsed them at a point.

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**Hola! I'm back from Spain everyone! And here we are at the end of this story; we'll see about an epilogue, that, though could be a while out. Thanks for all of your reviews, favorites, follows and views guys; you'll never know how much I appreciate it.**

**As always thanks for reading and I hope to hear from you all! :)**


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